


Sleeping Beauty

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Creeper!Jaha, M/M, Sleep Molestation, Unconscious!Murphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So remember when Murphy passed out in Jaha's arms all hairy and dirty after escaping the bunker but wakes up all bathed, shaved, in new clothes? Well, who knows what Jaha did to him while he was passed out, right?





	Sleeping Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> This is horrible. I have no idea why I wrote this. I apologize.

John was lighter than he expected in his arms. He had never appeared large to begin with but he had looked solid. Even on the Ark, Jaha remembered him having a sort of softness to him. He hadn't been lanky or scrawny like many of the other kids in the Sky Box. His figure had been almost girlish, with slightly broad hips and a just bit of a curve to his tummy. No, John wasn't the sort to naturally sport a six pack. He supposed this was due to the fact John was just built smaller than many of the other boys; shorter, lighter boned.

Now he was underfed. The outline of his hips now jutted out awkwardly and his chest and stomach were almost concave. He looked hungry. His shoulder blades stood out, sharp as knives beneath Jaha's hands. So fragile. Ah well, he could be fattened back up now. Jaha had access to better food than decades old MREs and cheap wine.

“Why don't you clean him up?” Allie suggested, appearing as usual at his side with little pomp or warning. She was gazing at the boy with a curious look on her face.

“Yes,” Jaha agreed. “He needs to be cleaned up.”

John sagged in his arms, stinking of months old body odor, his hair matted and sticky to the touch. He was an absolute mess. Jaha would make him whole again. He didn't even consider the fact he could just let John wash himself once he came to.

He brought him to the largest bathroom in the house. He was a light load, easily carried up the stairs and down the halls. The tub in this bathroom was large enough for a large man to lay down fully without bending his knees. John fit with plenty of room to spare when he was laid out into it, head cautiously leaning against the hard cream back of the tub. Carefully, Jaha undressed him. His shirt first, followed by his boots. The pants take awhile, Jaha meticulously tugging each leg an inch at a time while he slowly lifts the boy just enough to pull at his clothing. He doesn't want to just yank him down, risk banging his head against the side of the tub, maybe jamming his legs against the bottom in a way that could sprain a knee or ankle.

John is so skinny that Jaha can count his ribs. Every breath stretches his pale white skin across his bones, thin and white as tissue paper. But there's something oddly beautiful about him. His fragility, his vulnerability.

He turns on the water. The tub begins to fill. The water is warm, steaming, but not scalding. Jaha tests the temperature himself to make sure it's comfortable, like a mother testing formula for her baby. The mirrors in the bathroom quickly fog over.

John lays where Jaha set him, his head resting against the back of the tub, his arms at his sides. He is breathing evenly, deep and slow. He must be emotionally drained from his ordeals. Jaha wonders how long he will sleep for. What if he wakes in the middle of his bath? Will he be upset at being caught in such a compromising position?

The boy's hair is a wreck. Jaha knows that not bathing for a few months probably wasn't the best for him but this is beyond normal daily exposure. Parts of his hair appear to be hardened, shell-like, while others could be rolled in honey. When he touches some of the clumps of hair they stick to his hand like medical tape. Jaha dips his own hand in the water beside John's shoulder to wash off the residue.

The shampoo takes some kneading to get properly frothy, but with some diligence Jaha massages the liquid into the boy's scalp. The bubbles turn pink and smell like wine and gardenias. He uses the detachable hose to rinse out the mess and then adds another layer of shampoo back on top. It is easier to work into his scalp this time and he leaves it there, letting the chemicals do their magic. The bubbles are white this time.

“Why don't you shave him?” Allie's familiar voice comes from behind him.

“I don't know if he wants to be shaved,” he replies. “Maybe he likes the beard.”

“Shave him. You'll like him better that way and he won't mind.”

He shaves him. He starts by trimming the beard as short as he can, catching the long, prickly bunches of hair in his hand and throwing them in the trash. Then he uses a razor on him. The shaving cream is the same he uses in the smaller bathroom down the hall, it's thicker and more luxurious than any shaving cream they had on the Ark. It does not smell like gardenias. Mint, maybe. Or anise. The razor is ridiculously sharp. He takes his time, gently turning John's head this way and that, meticulously going over every millimeter of his flesh. He isn't careful enough. He nicks the bony area directly under his lower chin and blood trickles down, settling in the hallows of his throat. It glows red there against the bony whiteness.

Jaha uses a cloth to carefully wipe it away. Then he moves down, scrubbing at his chest, his armpits, between his thighs, anywhere he can reach. He needs to be made pure again. Fresh and young and pure.

There. Done. He looks like John again, smooth cheeked and pristine. He rinses out the boy's hair once more, then adds conditioner. It does it's job. The tangles don't fix themselves immediately but he makes short work of them with a comb and a pair of scissors.

John is still asleep. The fact he is still asleep is miraculous. Maybe it's the malnutrition. Maybe the emotional exhaustion. Maybe the shock of escaping the bunker.

There's a spare room near the bathroom. He could take him to where he, himself, sleeps but something about that doesn't feel right. Besides, he knows the spare room has some clothing for young men that should probably fit John pretty well. There's no way he's putting those smelly old rags onto John's shining white body. He's immaculate now, the rags would just sully him.

He is white. Almost blindingly white. The parts of his body that are never exposed to the fresh air nearly match the pillows he lays John's head onto. The parts that do get a little more sun have lightened from prolonged containment, though they're still several shades darker than the skin along his thighs. He looks so pure lying on the bed. Without his lips curled or his fists tightened he looks younger, like the teenager he is.

He's, he's beautiful.

Jaha's eyes skim down, apparently of their own accord. He had cleaned those areas quickly when washing him, trying not to linger, but now he couldn't help himself. He touches the skin of John's stomach.

“He won't be awake for awhile,” Allie informs him.

“He needs to eat,” he replies.

“He will, when he wakes up.”

“I should wake him up.”

“You can't. His body shut itself down. He will reboot on, his own accord.”

He sits at his bedside, watching the boy sleep. His face is slack, mouth soft, eyebrows smooth. As his skin begins to dry goose-pimples began to form along his arms, the hair standing up in a pathetic attempt to protect him from his surroundings.

“I should dress him.”

“Not yet. He isn't dry yet.”

“He won't dry like this. He's lying in a wet spot from his bathe.”

“Then turn him over onto a dry spot.”

Jaha obeys. He uses one hand on John's shoulder and one on his hip to gently, oh so gently, roll him onto his stomach. John's arm moves. The older man freezes, waiting for John's eyes to open, to react to his situation. John curls his arm under his head, resting his cheek against his forearm. His breathing is still even and slow. His eyes stay closed.

“He's still asleep. He was just in a restless stage.”

Jaha doesn't answer. He's still afraid of his voice waking John. He sits there and watches him. Watches the glistening drops of water on his back dry. He watches those razor-like shoulder blades rise and fall with his breaths. He notices how small John's waist is, how smooth the skin there.

He touches his lower back, not even realizing he had reached out do so so until he feels the warm skin moving with his breaths. He has just the slightest bit of fuzz to him, like a peach. It reminds Jaha of a baby bird.

John makes a small noise, sort of a chewing noise. Then goes quiet again.

Jaha slides his hand down. This is without a doubt the whitest part of the boy. Total absence of color and light. The definition of non-color. His cheeks are surprisingly soft and plump compared to the rest of his body, but cold. Not warm like his back had been.

He finds the sudden urge to spank the boy. Turn his pale ass red and warm. Like he had done to Wells when he was a child.

He doesn't think about Wells again. As soon as that memory comes it it is gone.

“Don't spank him,” Allie advises. “He won't like that.”

“I wasn't planning on it,” Jaha tells her.

He squeezes the boy's ass instead. The right cheek. It fits comfortably inside his palm, as if it was made to be there. John doesn't react in the slightest. Jaha moves his hand and squeezes the other one. They both feel good in his hand. He reaches out with his other hand, grabbing a handful in each.

Jaha finds he is hard. He doesn't know how long he has been so. It seems sudden.

“He won't wake up.” Her promise sounds convincing.

Jaha grunts his agreement. He's already unzipping his pants. He starts to pull them down, but changes his mind. He climbs over John first, straddling his thighs but making sure to put very little weight against them. Then he pushes his pants down and fists himself.

He won't hurt the boy. He won't even know about it. He's so hard it hurts. Precum slicks his own palm. He can be quick. The boy won't even have time to wake up.

Jaha continues to touch the boy with his right hand while he uses his left on himself. He touches his shoulders, his waist. He touches his perfect ass and his beautifully tousled locks. Then he touches his face. His skin there feels soft now, as if a single strand of hair has never sprouted from his chin. Jaha puts his hand against the boy's lips, feels his hot breath again his knuckles. He touches his eyelids, which quiver. His eyelids feel like the skin of his own penis, thin, soft, and loose.

He runs a hand down from the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades, over the small of his back, and between his ass cheeks. He runs his finger up and down along the crack several times. This area is still slightly damp from his bath, the skin just a bit tacky.

He carefully spreads his ass apart. He won't do anything. He won't stick anything in there. He just wants to see it. The little pink pucker. He rubs at it with his thumb. The boy's asshole clamps tighter and John's entire body goes tense. It makes Jaha's dick jump in his own hand. He pulls back and John relaxes.

Interesting. What instinct could this boy possibly have to know to clench up when he feels fingers on his asshole? Jaha brings his hand to his mouth, sucks messily at his own thumb, and then just gently nudges at the hole. If John was awake and consenting he might have used his mouth on him. He smells good, clean and young. He probably tastes great. He would writhe on the bed, moaning and gasping and begging and just taking it. But he's not awake so Jaha only uses one finger. Just enough to barely fit the tip of his thumb in. Just enough to feel the heat emanating from within his lithe body. This time John's body stays lax.

He doesn't stick it in any deeper than that. Just rubs it back and forth. Jaha notices the half erection that John is now sporting. It lays against the mattress between him, clearly visibly between his thighs. He touches the flushed purple skin with his ring and middle finger, keeping his thumb where it is. The skin of his penis is soft, almost silk-like. As Jaha continues to rub the boy's sphincter he becomes harder.

He could make John feel so good if he'd let him. He could cover his body completely, press his own body down against his instead of hovering behind him like this. He could push him deep into the mattress, press his head against the pillow, or preferably press his face into the pillow, and drive into him hard and forceful enough to make the boy scream with pleasure. The boy's voice would be breathless and devoid of dignity and self consciousness as he begged for more. For it to be harder, for it to be faster, for it to just be more. He sees Allie beside John's head in this fantasy, watching as he sobs out his orgasm into the duvet.

Jaha comes so suddenly he doesn't even have time to cover it. His semen shoots across John's ass, thighs, and penis, painting him white on white. The older man clutches the blanket at his side, overcome by how powerful his own orgasm is. He hadn't been expecting it and this, this may be the best orgasm of his entire life. And it was in his own damn hand.

He doesn't realize how awkward the position he's been holding is until he goes to move and feels the cramps in his own legs.

John still lies there, innocent, oblivious in his dreams.

“You better clean him up before you dress him,” Allie advises. “I don't think he'd react well if he knew what you did to him.”

 


End file.
